Guard
by Subtle Blatancy
Summary: Hey Ya'll! For all of my hordes of fans *cough* be glad! Theres a lot more writing now! This is the new location for Guard.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
Aboard the Vessel**

The battery pack for my Lasgun finally gives, and, thankful I grabbed another one earlier; I take the old one out and slam the new one home. With renewed vigor, I charge the ranks of Tau just ahead of me. I snap out a shot as I run, the las-bolt scoring a direct hit on a fire warrior, the laser powered projectile searing through the helmet of the soldier. **-Graphic content to follow-** I dart by a man screaming something to the emperor; his entrails sitting in a steaming pile at his side, ignoring a strange pinkish-red substance that I assume came from the headless guardsman to his left splattered across his face. I watch as a squad of Conscripts charge blindly into the fray, a Commissar leading the charge.

A squad of Tau is opening up on me, and I crouch behind some rubble. I glance around; the buildings are either destroyed or burning, and there aren't very many of them taller than a few stories high. The screams of dying men ring through air, accompanied by the bark of the commissars as they bellow their litanies, executing those not serving the emperor. I snap back into reality as a beam of energy roars over my head. I pop up from behind cover and fire again at the squad supplying the suppressive fire. I notice a new squad sneaking around to my position, and I know that if I don't react quickly, they'll pounce, and I'll be little more then another dead guardsman. Not Today.

The defining shriek of a salvo of Basilisk tanks sounds overhead, and I fire with my Lasgun as I charge blindly into the enemy ranks. A building explodes to my left and some Tau pathfinder sniper go flying from a few stories up. I stumble for a moment from the large explosion, still running, and I suddenly find myself face to face with a kroot, Carnivorous mercenaries for the Tau. The wicked blade at the end of his crude gun digs into my chest, nearly skewering my heart.

I can already feel the poison from the blade working through my body as I react by smashing the bayonet on the end of my gun up through the kroot's neck into his head, his black blood running down my lasgun. He goes limp, and I pull the knife from my chest. I start feeling dizzy, my vision blurred. The cacophony of battle returns to my ears after the defining sound of the Ordnance blasts. Just as sound returns, I fall to the ground; the poison of the kroot working it's way through my body. I black out.

My vision returns for flitting moments. I'm inside some sort of large transport vehicle, too big to be a chimera, packed with large soldiers. My vision recedes. It returns, and I look at large soldiers, their armor bulky and heavy, some of them sporting craters from bullet impacts. The driver is in haste, the transport bumping up and down, throwing my stomach for a loop. My vision once again eludes me. I wake a third time, the bumping and rocking of the vehicle making me nauseas. One of the soldiers, his armor a bold white, stands near me, his eyes burning red in my sickened haze. He has a terrifying looking needle, and I feel an acute pain in my leg as the needle punctures my skin, injecting some fluid unknown into my artery. It's not more than a few seconds until I'm out again.

When I wake up again, I am no longer in the shaking confines of the large transport, but in fact in a large infirmary, it seems. The nausea is no longer there, but I remember wanting to throw up. I look down at my flak jacket, still clung tight to my body, vomit splattered across the front. I guess I did throw up. Everything is deafly quiet, and I appear to be the only one in here. I glance around; large beds, much to big for the average guardsman, are in a neat order around the room. The medical stations sit unmanned. I feel fine enough, and ponder what it was that the man in the tank had injected me with. Something strong, cause I was out cold. Sitting in my thoughts, I am amazed to see the large wall behind me is in fact not a wall, evident by the fact that it starts sliding apart, revealing open space, black beyond the immaculate window. So I'm in orbit. It really throws me for a loop, the irony of it all. I pass out after having just been in combat, and then in a matter of short minutes (or, so it seems to me) I'm aboard this large ship. Then it occurs, I was stabbed! I don't feel any pain in my chest, though I am sure that I was gouged. I'm pondering my wounds when a door slides open on the far end of the chamber, to my right. What I see is amazing.

In full power armor, still pocked with bullet holes and burn marks from battle, strides in five Space Marines, their armor stunning red, insignias of a drop of blood with wings emblazoned across the chest, and along various points on their armor. They are of reasonable rank, I can see. The purity seals waving slowly off of their body tell of years of dedicated service. The one in the front, the highest in authority, marches toward me, his stride massive. In step behind him, I see what I assume is an Apothecary, his armor a crisp white, detailed in red. As the leader nears, his power armor adourned with all kinds of details, from long flowing seals to elaborate cloths painstakingly detailed with the chapter's vows and oaths, I notice a long scar along the top of his head. He stops by the end of my bed, his pace suddenly ending; the other Space marines behind him never losing composure, even after his sudden halt. Amazing. I start on the battlefield, and end up within the very confines of a space marine Chapter Warship, one of one hundred in the galaxy.

"Private Steven Maverick, 67th Cadian regiment!" booms the space marine, his voice resounding through the otherwise silent chamber.

"Yes, Sir!" I yell back, astonished by the volume of his voice, "Reporting, sir!"

"Very well then… Brother Allond, see to it that this man is outfitted to the fullest extent, and brother Assiduas, tend to his wounds. You are a brave man, Private Maverick. When you have been tended to, come to my quarters aboard the ship. I will expect nothing less than full formal wear… Am I clear!" He says, his voice rising, exploding in my ears.

"Yes, sir. It would be an honor, sir!" I snap back, once again gaining my senses, pain slowly growing across my chest.

With this, he strides out, his flowing robes waving with his massive steps. The entire time he never glanced at me once, and yet I can feel his authority. Two of the men under his command stay, still facing forward; the Apothecary and a Marine with various details I assume are not present on normal marines armor, showing his status. Just as the Commander leaves the room, the two bellow in unison, "The emperor be with you!"

"And also with you." The high-ranking officer says, not breaking his pace for a moment. And then, he leaves. The two marines left pivot on heel, facing me now, and I can see their shoulders drop, their massive shoulder pads adorned with various details, now at ease. The Apothecary glances at me before lifting a few latches at the back and sides of his helmet, and lifting it off with a hiss of decompressing air.

"Greetings, my guardsman friend." He declares, his voice deep, yet soft. His fellow Marine takes off his helmet now. "I do believe that you have suffered a wound, grievous, and it has been wished of me to tend to it."

In sudden realization that maybe I should be taking off my helmet, I quickly un-strap it. "Yes, I was stabbed, by one of the, uh, kroot," I remark, various cruel names for the alien rushing through my mind.

"And I," says the second marine, "I am the Brother-captain's personal armourer. I have been told to outfit you to the highest of Imperial standards. I hope my services are to your liking." He says, with a slight nod.

Now, I am thoroughly enjoying myself, aboard a space marine chapter ship, wounds being tended to by the best of the galaxy, already thinking of my new armor, when a thought occurs. Why? Why in emperors name am I so special? All I did was get stabbed on the field of battle and nearly die, if not for having been saved by these people. I don't entirely think it would be the wisest move on my part to question my feats, so I save it for later.

"Now, Private, lie back. I must see the extent of your injuries." With that, I set my helmet on the table next to me from its spot under my arm. I stare at the dull glow globes, wondering how many of them there are on this massive ship. I feel pain around my wound as the Apothecary quickly jabs a needle into it.

"What was that for!"? I question through my gritted teeth.

"I am afraid this Xeno poison is fairly strong, and it may be a painful process disinfecting your wound. Hold still, please." He says.

"I am holding still." I reply calmly, through gritted teeth, despite the needle dug deep into my wound. He yanks the needle out sharply and places deftly a clamp to hold my wound open. I writhe at the pain. Oh.

My wound doesn't hurt that bad, actually, for all of the poking and prodding that the Apothecary had done earlier. My Dress Uniform is nice, real nice, much nicer than my old ratty one. The frill draped along my chest in two thick cords is of a golden cloth, and it matches well with the Cadian green cloth of which the uniform is made, a nice soft material that feels good on my skin. My whole attire, from my peaked top hat to my shiny combat boots, is crisp, the arm and leg lengths perfectly tailored, gold and tan picked out on the various details of the Imperial eagle across the outfit. My new bolt pistol, nicer than any laspistol I've fired, is holstered calmly at my side. As I stride with an heir of confidence behind my Marine escort to the Chapter Master's chambers, I notice the intricacy of everything the Space marines do, as evident by the detail along the walls of the ship.

We come to a large door, with two guards in full power armor on either side, heavy bolters locked and loaded, and my escort shows a card that he has produced from one of his side pouches. The guards both nod slightly, and the one to the left turns and punches in a few keys on the keypad behind him. The door slides apart, revealing a spacious chamber. My escort nods slightly toward the open door, telling me to go inside. He turns on his heel and walks off down the corridor we had just strode through, completing some task or mission on another section of the ship. I walk in to the quarters and I hear the door hiss closed behind be. Well then, no escaping this room. Now that I am inside, I can see the room much better. Old-fashioned lamps light the lavishly furnitured room, Red cloth lining all of the rich wood chairs and couches and other items around the chamber, a nice, and obviously requested, change from the rest of the metal ship, and an obvious show of power. I'm trying to determine if the wood is real or fake when another door to my left opens up, and I see the chapter leader stride in with the same heir of authority I sensed earlier. He walks over to his desk, situated in front of me, and sits down, not even glancing at me as he walks in, a servo skull hovering above his left shoulder, humming slightly as it floats next to him. The desk is lit by a red lamp, which I assume has an older style bulb, and has various stacks of papers, what I also assume to be battle rights and death records, and a few pens sticking up neatly in their holders.

"Greetings, once again, private Maverick." He says, his voice considerably lower than in the infirmary, "I am glad to see you are up, and Brother Allond has outfitted you well."

"Indeed he has, sir" I reply, cautious of my tone, trying dearly not to upset this powerful man.

"Do you know why my Retinue and I rescued you from your deathbed?" he questions, seemingly feeding on my thoughts.

"No, sir, I do not." I reply firmly, though I am sure that was not the answer he had wanted.

"As I thought." He says, his motives concealed to me for the moment, "It is because you saw an opportunity, and you took it without thinking for your own well-being. The order to retreat was called, was it not? You did hear this call?" Then it all comes back to me. Tired from battle, deafened by the salvo of Earthshakers, I didn't even hear the order to retreat! My mind begins to race. Do I tell him the truth? Do I lie? Emperor knows what this man will do if I do not answer to his liking.

"Yes sir, I did." I'm cringing at in my mind at my sudden choice.

"Did you then?" he says hotly. He knows something. "were you aware that the Xeno you encountered was the one orchestrating forward movement at that particular battle?" he asks scrutinizingly.

"No, sir. I was not aware of this information. It was merely that I believed the battle was lost. If I was to die for the Emperor, then I figured I could kill a few for him before I went down."

"well then, Private Maverick, it seems we have been good to save you. Devoted to the emperor, and a tide turner of battles. It was your killing of that Alien that allowed us to fight on. I was informed before you entered that we have won the battle, in fact, there are no longer enemies upon the surface." His voice is much less intense than it was moment ago.

"Well, then, I thank you for saving me, sir. I also thank you for the wargear that you have bestowed upon me. However, I do wish to contact my squad, or at least the platoon command, so that I am not presumed dead."

At this remark, the Master sighs heavily, his chest drooping. I begin to worry. Has something gone wrong, have they been killed, captured? The Chapter leader jots down something on the paper on the top of his desk.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Private." He says, waiting for my reply.

"Why not, sir?" I ask, my worries growing with each passing second, a horrible feeling growing at the pit of my stomach.

"I am sorry to say that the planet had been overrun. All space marine units were evacuated, and a few of the Guard regiments as well. The planet was cleansed as of 0900 hours. Your squad, your platoon, your regiment is… dead." He spins around the paper he had signed and slides it toward me. I assume the parchment offers some condolence, but I can't be bothered with it right now.

"Begging the Chapter master's Pardon, but this… is unbelievable." I say, suddenly short of breath. I can feel it coming. There is no stopping it. " How the frag could you do that!" I bellow, "Why not just leave me to die on that Emperor forsaken planet! I'm not just some no feeling space marine. When someone dies in my squad, I don't just take his seed and move on!" I bellow, my anger filling the room.

"Private, you must understa-" he tries, but I cut him short. I might as well be the Emperor himself for my authority at the moment..

"They were my friends! My brothers! And they all died! You could have fought for the planet, but no! You had to blow the whole fraggin thing up! You could have sent in more guard, a few of your space marines! Not just fragging sacrifice the unknowing guards!" I yell, my voice filling the chamber. I'm sure I'm about to get a bolt in the back from one of the sentries outside the door, but the time ticks by, second by second, the Chapter master choosing his words wisely.

"They were doomed anyway." He says at length, calmly. "The planet was overrun. It is written in the Adeptus Astartes that the planet must be cleansed, regardless of friendly casualties. I am sorry for your loss. You are to be transferred to 8th Regiment, Cadian 7th regiment, 412th platoon as commanding sergeant of squad 312. You and any of your possessions are to be shipped to the planet of Sintridge in preparation of the purging of Carcatha. I have the papers ready, right here. If it is your will, you may join the Commanding squad for 8th company, should you survive landfall on Carcatha, and meet with and are approved by Senior Officer Alatar. Emperor be with you, Sergeant Maverick." He says at length. I am outraged. I am happy. I am so completely fragged up I can't even stand it.

"And… also with you, sir." I say, cooled down. I slide the paper off the desk and make my leave, feeling the hot stare of the Chapter Master across my back. The doors to the chamber slide open, and the cool, dark of the glow-globe lit corridor is soothing. I walk directly to my chamber, not glancing back for even a moment. The detailed form in my hand with high gothic scribbled all over it is beginning to crumple under my extreme grip. I remember all of the men in my platoon. Rallington, Umen, Harry, Benny, Lisa, Mark, Alan. All dead.

I quicken my pace, anger slowly taking over me. I can feel tears rushing to my face, and I fight to keep them back. The paper in my hand continues to crumple. I could see the charred bodies of all of them, still smoking, splayed out across the burnt landscape. The hundreds of lives slaughtered to make it easier for the Fraggin' Space Marines. The tears roll down my face as I stride into my chamber, new Carapace armor laid out with my autogun, along with various other things. All of the men and women I knew. They had lives, personalities. Now they were dead. And I died with them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
On the way to Carcatha **

I have my pack full with various supplies; autogun, Carapace, canteen, bayonet, helmet, all the useful stuff a soldier needs, plus a 3 week supply of rations bars.

As I make my way about the ship, solemn with death, I no longer take notice of the intricate details, the towering Marines, not even the massive marines walking by in Terminator armour, though I must admit that they were rather impressive. My pack is surprisingly light, actually, as I'm used to carrying the heavier Lasgun, radio, and equipment, the stuff I have now is rather light, well crafted, I suppose.

The port is not very exciting. There are hardly any people running about, except the Technical servitors and the odd Enginseer. The ships of the space marines are, like the marines themselves, blown up to huge proportion. There are maybe 30 Thunderhawk gunships, and endless numbers of drop pods and skimmers of some kind or another, mounted with assault cannons or these large missile pods I can't quite make out. As I was waiting in the "lobby", I could have sworn I saw a Dreadnought pass by, long cloths and purity seals, and other hundreds of awards plastered to its surface. It looked amazing, even though I saw it only for a brief second. The marine behind the counter is skimming through my papers when he finds something he doesn't like. His face suddenly darkens, and he immediately looks up.

"You ship is right this way, Sergeant Maverick." He remarks, His soft voice heavy with sorrow.

I follow him promptly, and I am admiring the various ships stationed throughout the bay when we come to a ship that I presume is the one we will be taking. It's a Thunderhawk, by the look of it, though it looks like more of a transport not suited for battle, perhaps for high-ranking officers. When I board, I am relieved to see that the reprehensible Chapter Master is not aboard, something I had feared by the look of the ship. The inside is very nice, however, and looks much like the inside of his office, and I assume this is the ship he makes land fall with.

It is mostly quiet in here, except for the hum of the engine, roaring outside as it rips through open space. A door at the far end of the ship opens up, and a marine strides toward me from the cockpit.

"Hello, Officer" He says flatly. It sounds like he has mechanic voice box implants. "I have been sent to answer any questions you may have of your arrival at the planet."

"Ok, I got a few." I say as I lean back and stretch my arms over the chairs beside me, more relaxed to be in the quiet aircraft, "first off, what's you name?"

"I am Brother Omatar. I work as a pilot and tank operator." He says quickly, obviously forgetting to say this when he walked in.

"That works. By the way, my name's Steven. How long till we get there?" I ask, not really caring, just trying to make conversation.

"8 hours, Steven." He says. Wow. The space marines actually care about things like names.

"Right then…what kind of weather should I expect?" I ask. Knowing my luck, it's going to be cold.

"Last time I checked, it was rain." He says. Oh, fragger…

"Anyway, you got anything to eat? Rations bars curb the appetite, but they kinda look and taste the same commin' in as they do commin' out." I laugh at my own joke in my mind.

"Yes, in fact we do have other sustenance aboard. What would be to your liking?" He asks, unfazed by my joke. Wow, this guy is accommodating. I suppose he has to be, anybody aboard this ship is going to be important. I guess he hasn't a clue who I am. The nice dress uniform must make me look much more official.

"Uh, I dunno… you got any beer, and maybe a grox burger?" I ask. I assume they do.

"Actually, we have wine, beer, amasec, most anything. I do believe we have some of the "grox" aboard, so I shall see what I can do. May I also offer you some Lho sticks, or perhaps something a little stronger?"

"Well, ok, I could use a smoke. Amasec sounds great, something a little stronger, eh? Thanks for the, uh, services, Omatar."

"I will return." He says as he scurries off to another part of the ship. Cool. Now the only other problem is what the frag do I do for 8 hours? It's a few minutes before I'm board of sitting and staring at the details of the room, lavish wood and red velvet decorating everything. I haven't really looked through everything in my pack, so I pull it from my feet and open it up. I set the bag on the seat next to me as I start pulling things out. We've got five extra clips, I don't know why I'll need five for the trip from here to the planet, but I suppose better safe than sorry. A standard Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, packed with all manner of things from bayoneting techniques to some prayers and hymnals for the average Joe. I never use them really, but I know most of the crummy little prayers in there. I've got plenty of rations bars, not to tasty, but good for trading - for beer and other such things. I'm not sure why, but I've got a multikey lock pick. Also thrown into the party bag is a very nice set of Magnoculars. I'm digging through the other useless stuff, Det-tape rolls, A micro-bead, some Counterseptic, and I find a small velvet maroon pouch with a gold string wrapped around the top to keep it closed. I promptly take it out of the bag and pull the string and dig inside. The first thing is a small bottle of whisky, and not just any whisky, it's the kind they give to high ranking officers, the kind that people drink who die penny-less. I bet it's good though. I pull out the second vile and I am amazed to see what I hold in my hand. It's a small dose of Juvenat. Word is this stuff is incredibly expensive. Normally reserved for high ranking officers or Imperial nobility, this stuff is injected into your body somehow or another, and it increases you lifespan. I'm not sure how the frag they did it, but some tech freaks in the high imperial places developed it. It's not gonna let you live for forever, but a few extra years is never a bad thing.

I'm staring, dumfounded, at the vile when Brother Omatar rushes in, a tray in each hand. He pulls out a small desk from the end of the row of seats along the wall and sets the trays on top. "I hope these will be to you liking." He says, backing away to the other parts of the room, trying not to be discourteous, but obviously wanting to attend to some matter on another area of the ship. On one tray is a bottle of Amasec, presented neatly in a fine glass. On the other tray is one of the nicest looking grox burgers I've seen in a while. A pack of Lho sticks with an appeasing looking title slapped across the front is laid out on the edge of the burger tray, and I look up to thank Omatar, but he's already left the room, tending to emperor knows what.

I dig in, and it is delicious. The grox is excellent, the burger ladened with all kinds of lettuce, vegetables, and cheese. The Amasec is even better; the powerful alcohol plays a numbing effect on my mind which I welcome with joy after the ware of the last few days. I am done quickly, and I take a few moments to pack my bag, then I pull out one of the Lho's and, with a lighter provided, light the stick and breath deeply. It is very good, (like everything aboard, I assume) and I blow out the smoke and sigh with relief. I take periodic sips out of the glass, and pour it full a few times. When I'm done with my smoke, I down what's left in my most recent glass, and slowly pass into sleep.

I wake up again in four or five hours. I have to take a pee, a good sign that I have been sleeping for a while. I sit up slowly. I glance around at the interior; still unchanged, except for the tray that is now missing. I stand up and sling my pack over my shoulder, and then walk over to one of the doors leading out of the room. It slides open and I walk through, peering down a large hall full of doors. I sigh and walk down the hall, checking the doors randomly. I'm sure I should just be checking all of the doors, but I'm not that motivated. I see a tray next to one door, grav-wheels turned off. I'm pretty sure it's not the bathroom, but I peer in anyway, my curiosity getting the better of me. The room is full of all kinds of food; wine, beer, amasec, grox, vegetables, coffee grinds, coffee beans, pastries, bread, everything. Taking advantage of the situation, I stroll in to the room and restrain myself from stuffing my pack until I get into the middle. I grab everything I can get my hands on; A couple bottles of wine, a case of beer, a bottle of Amasec. I even managed to find some more Lho sticks and cigars.

My pack is fit to burst full of coffee, meat, and some strange looking bread and other various food and drink items when I saunter back out. I glance around, happy of my finds, into the hall. I catch in the corner of my eye someone walking around the corner into the hall. I dart behind the grav-cart next to me just in time as my server from earlier comes around the corner. What was his name? Oloroy? Omoroy? Olofer? I think it was Olofer… wait, Omatar- it was Omatar! I wait till he walks by me, my head zipping with possible excuses for being up and about the ship. When he's a few feet ahead of me, I stand up.

"Omatar!" I call, hopeful that I got his name right, "You got a latrine in this place?"

He whips around, startled by my sudden appearance. "Yes, we do, only we call them bathrooms when it has plumbing." He says. Hey, was that a joke?

"Sure, a bathroom works too." I say after a quick chuckle. A smile curls slowly across his lips. Good, he was joking. He leads me to the bathroom and promptly opens the door. "Please meet me in the waiting room when you have finished." He says, and I walk in. The bathroom is nice. Well, nice for a bathroom. I walk over to the urinal and take care of my business. In the waiting room, I find Omatar tending to something or another, and he looks up as I enter. He tucks something into a drawer before addressing me.

"The captain said it is 45 minutes before we make landfall. If there is anything else you need to tend to while aboard, I would recommend doing it now." He says

"Thanks, but I think I'm good to go." I reply "So, what have you been doing this whole time?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"Well, I have been tending to various areas of the ship. Taking care of the yours and the captains needs, cleaning, storing, cataloguing. Many things to do, even on this small a ship. I can't fathom how the people aboard the bigger ships can manage…" he says, picking up a few things before heading for the door. "I will speak with you over the intercom when we need to prepare for landing."

"Thanks." I say as he slides through the door. Such an awkward little man. Very nice, but he has an uncomfortable air about him. I dismiss my thought as I sit down again. I pull my new found treasures from my pack and organize the contents once more to fit in the new items. It seems like a short time before Omatar's voice squawks through the over-com. "we will break the planets outer atmosphere in five minutes. Please fasten your seatbelt as soon as possible." There is a switch below the speaker next to me, and I press it; "thank you Omatar." I respond. "I hope your flight has been enjoyable!" he says. I nod just before the aircraft begins to rumble, a sign that we have broken the outer atmosphere. I look out of a small window and a slight red-orange sheet covers the outer layer of the ship. Some of the ships cooling systems kick in when the flame has grown to a certain size, the red outside my window suddenly duller. We continue like this for a minute or two, and soon I begin to see land. The surface is brown and bleak, though I can see where a few main bases are stationed, the organic feel of the land taken over in spots by the rockcrete of the Imperial stations. As we get closer, I can see smaller forts branching off of the main structures, but we still seem to be heading for one of the larger settlements. We are beginning to shake quite violently when the plasma engines boost in. I lurch forward as the engines kick into life, slowing the rapid approach of the vehicle to land. Suddenly a large flaming hunk of metal flies past my window, one of the plasma engines. That can't be good. Omatar's voice once more blasts out of the inter-com; "We are experiencing engine troubles, please hold still for a moment. I jam the switch and scream into the inter-com; "One of the fraggin' engines just blew off! I think we need to evacuate!" I say, hot-headed. "oh, OH! Come to the front of the plane immediately! It's the door to your right, the end of the room." "Easy for him to say." I mumble.

I un-strap the harness and sling my pack over my shoulder. I stand up and stumble, but keep my composure. I stagger to the end of the room, and I trip and fall a few times. The shaking of the aircraft loosens a few of the chairs, and one flies though the air, and I duck just in time as it smashes into the wall. I make it to the door and swing it open. A long hallway, and then another door. Great. As I'm walking to the next door, the plane jerks violently and sends me flying to the sealing. I slam into the top with tremendous force and fall down once more. I limp to the door, cursing all the way, and swing it open. I'm in the cock pit now, and I can see one of the emergency doors is open. The sudden pull of air is surprising, but I grab on to a bar to steady myself. I see Omatar jump out, a grav-chute strapped firmly to his back. Frag. I stagger over to the last the grav-chutes hanging on the wall, only three of them left. I am glad I was the only other passenger. I've never used one before, and I fiddle with the straps for a moment before I find something that I think will work. I walk over to the edge of the release door, and peer out; the pilots and Omatar little specks. I cross my hands in the sign of Aquila and close my eyes. "Oh, frag it!" I yell as I step off the ledge.

Just as I fall a few feet from the plane, it explodes, and is engulfed in flames. I fall a good way, the wind splashing across my face, and I struggle to keep my eyes open. An awful feeling is in the pit of my stomach, which I would swear was in my throat. I am maybe 500 meters from the ground now, and I begin to wonder when I should activate the reverse thrusters. I'm at 200 meters and I get giddy. My heart is pounding in my chest. Just a little more… At 150 meters I open up. The impact of the grav-jets designed to slow me down is awful, the extreme force tugging at my body. I'm hoping that the plane doesn't land on top of me while I jam the trigger for the thrusters. I slow down rapidly, but not quite quick enough for my liking, actually. I can see the amazed faces of the guardsmen below as I speed toward the ground. Omatar and his fellow captains don't look to be moving, but I am more concerned with my situation at the moment. I scream as I get close to the ground, hoping madly that somehow it will help with the fall. I slam into the ground and the shock rips up my legs. I barely manage to stand up, but somehow I stay on my feet, running forward to cradle the impact and slow down. I skid to a halt, and I view the faces of many conscripts, guardsmen, even a few officers. The plane crashes behind me, and I cringe slightly, but I knew it was coming.

I stand there for a few moments, holding the thoughts and minds of everyone present. They just stare at me with dazzled expressions. I feel something hot on my back. I turn slightly to see the flaming wreck of the ship maybe a foot from where I stand. I jump and retract quickly."holy frag…" I murmur as is step further from the wreckage. My heart is still going a million miles an hour. One of the young bright eyed conscripts begins to clap slowly. I glance at him. I see the charred bodies of my fellow flight mates around me. Soon, more of the conscripts are joining in, and soon I have everyone around me making some sort of commendation. A squad comes marching from the crowd, smiles wide across their faces. The one at the front walks up to me and places a hand on my shoulder.

"You must be Sergeant Maverick." He says, "this is your squad, speaking. That was one fragged up move you just pulled!'' He remarks excitedly, to which the other squad members laugh in agreement.

"whatever…" I say, in a slight state of shock, "you got a latrine, I nearly fraggin' pissed myself."

"Yah, we do. Though, your in main Imperial Headquarters! We got better then a couple holes in the ground. And we call them bathrooms when it has plumbing." He remarks. I force out a small laugh as he leads me through the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**  
**Adeptas Sororitas  
**  
After my relieving pee, I was led to through the various halls, following silently behind the previous leader of the squad (my squad, really) as the other privates squawked about my landing, the last prank pulled on some guy named Phillip, and all kinds of frivolous things. I could tell that they were still excited, and I'm sure I would be the subject of much boasting in the chow halls. The member in front of me is talking; I can't quite make out what he's saying. He is a big man, not fat, but he's got some girth. I decide to come back into reality.

"-what's in it?" he says. I only caught the last few words, I suppose.

"Come again?" I say, feeling slightly awkward that I missed half of what he was saying.

"Your pack, it looks full. What all have you got in there?" he asks. A smile creeps across my face. That's right! I did take my pack! Hell, I'm still in formal wear! No wonder I held everyone's attention; dropping out of the sky in full formal as 3 charred bodies and a flaming Thunderhawk crash around me. I remember my finds on the ship.

"Well, private-uh…" I begin to say, not knowing his name.

"It's Brownings, Sir."

"Well, private Brownings, I'm sure the squad will find some pleasure in it. And let that assure you." I say, leaving him pondering as we walk down the hall. I slow my pace a little, feeling mischievous, and step into line with the rest of the squad.

"Squad!" I shout, "What are you talking about!" I yell. They are obviously frightened. "Uh…nothing, sir." One says.

"Well, actually, we were talking about Phillip. You see, we kinda played a prank on him the other night. All in good spirit, you know?" another says.

"Hmm… well, soldiers, tonight we are going to have some fun! Anybody got any disciplinary duties?" I ask

"Yah, I do…" yet another one chimes in sullenly.

"Well then!" I bellow, my voice resounding through the hall, forcing the quietly pondering private in front to turn around.

"I'll be willing to bet that in an hour you won't! What do you have to do, and who gave you the job?" I ask.

"Bathrooms, sir. Lieutenant Surlen gave me the duties, sir." The one says again. "Where can I find him?" I question.

"He's two bunks down from ours… room 163 A, I think. But he's on drill duty today." He says after some thought.

"Right then. Brownings!" I bark, "Lead me to the drill ground. The rest of you, head back to the bunk. Including you Private…" I ask, inquiring toward the soldier with the alleged latrine duty.

"Sirus, sir." He says. Brownings turns to face me as the rest of the squad walks by, heading toward our squad barracks.

"Sirus, right…" I say, registering his name. "Lead me to the parade grounds, son!" I bark toward Brownings, and I can almost see his heart skip a beat.

"Yes sir!" he replies.

He takes me past various corridors and rooms, a few large mess halls and small checkpoints where we have to show security cards. I had one in my pack, and I'm glad I stowed in my pant's pocket on the ship. I have pretty effectively managed to ignore the whole event, dreadful as it was. I need to keep up a good image for my squad, First impressions and all. We eventually come to the drill grounds, a hundred or so squads rushing around, accompanied by some humvies and the occasional sentinel. The skies were mildly gray when I arrived, and now it is drizzling lightly. I suspect that the Commissars would keep them going until the grounds flooded, and I'm glad that I'm not marching around out here under their scrutinous eyes. Brownings leads me to Lieutenant Surlen, and I ask Brownings to step aside as I swing my pack from my shoulders.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant!" I ask as I walk up to him, unzipping my backpack.

"Yes?" he says, partially turning to face me.

"I believe you recently gave a Private Sirus Latrine duty?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, in fact I did."

"Why was it that you gave him this punishment?" I question. I don't really care.

"Misconduct in the mess hall. You see, he was-" I cut him off.

"Look, I don't really care." I say flatly, my voice suddenly lower. "All I care about is that he doesn't get latrine duty, and that… _he_ does." I say, pointing to some random man running about. "And I'll give you 2 packs of Lho sticks to persuade you." He begins to pull away, leaning in previously to hear what I was saying, his body language saying no already. "And… 5 cigars." I add on quickly.

"Well, alright." He says, after a moment of thought, grumbling slightly. I quickly pull out his rewards and pass them over discretely. "Right then. Bugger off." He says, and I scurry away as he points at my randomly chosen soldier and calls him over. A smile spreads on my face as I walk over to Brownings, his large brow line casting shadows on his eyes. His hair is flat, but I assume that's from wearing a helmet too much.

"What was all that about?" he asks as I near him.

"Nothing. Just know Sirus doesn't have toilet cleaning anymore and be content." I say, keeping my mysterious jokes to myself.

"Whatever, sarge…" he says as we trudge off back into the building. We pass back through all of the corridors and halls, the few mess halls and security checkpoints. I have to show the guards waiting by the doors my card again, even though they checked it just a few minutes ago. Protocol, I guess. I decide to try and talk to my 'escort', Brownings.

"So, private." I say, "which do you prefer; beer, wine, gin, whisky…?" He looks back at me with a slightly startled look on his face. He thinks about the question for a second, then answers; "Actually, I'm more of a wine sort of person myself." He responds. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason really. Just useless information, ya' know?" I can't remember how many bottles of wine I grabbed back on the plane. I'll find out soon enough. I'm looking around at all of the details of the compound, not quite as nice as the Space Marines, but that's understandable. I remember that hot little office aboard the ship, where the reality of things slapped me in the face. I would have preferred to have been given the information from someone not so… condescending. I force down the bitter images of my squad mates' charred bodies, the burning planet. I need to focus on something else.

"…something wrong?" I only catch the last half of his sentence, again.

"Sorry, what was that?" I say, feeling even more sheepish than last time.

"Your biting your lip. Is there something wrong? I think your bleeding…" he says. I notice it now to. I release the clench on my lip, and rub my finger across the bottom half. I look at my fingers; small smears of blood wiped across them.

"Sorry, it's a bad habit." I say, thinking quickly.

"Making yourself bleed is a habit? Hmm. Sounds a little bit… strange to me. You sure there isn't something wrong?" He asks again.

"So… is this our bunker?" I say weakly, trying to change the subject.

"No." he says, slightly ill at ease, "it's still a little ways down…" I can see him shake his head slightly as he takes a few paces ahead of me.

We finally arrive at our quarters, and I slip in the door behind Brownings, closing it quietly, trying to keep a low profile. The squad is sitting around the room, some sprawled out on beds, others standing next to a desk, others still organizing their packs, taking everything out and stowing it back in. This bunker is actually quite nice. There must be lots of multi-squad bunkers around, but it seems that we don't have to share it with anyone. The lamp in the corner gives off a yellow orange glow that dimly eliminates the whole room; the small round desks, the large square table, even the double layered bunk beds in the corners. I can see where the squad's weapons are hung on the walls. I notice a flamer sitting on the ground below the lasguns, Promethium filled backpack and all. Too heavy to hang on one of the hooks, I suppose.

"Squad!" I below suddenly, and I force down a small laugh as various members of the squad jump or whip their heads about in surprise. "Front and center! All of you!" I bark into their spellbound faces. They run over quickly in front of me, and I set my pack on the bed behind me with the blue sheets. "Sound off!" I order, and they start off with their names.

"Leonard Baily!" yells the man at the far right. He's got a really short haircut, and I can see that he is rather muscular.

"Seth Sirus!" responded the next man in line, young, slightly scrawny looking. Must have been drafted.

"Samuel Brownings!" boomed my friend from earlier. I'm not supposed to pick favorites, but I like this guy.

"Hunter Uriel" The next one says. He looks pretty average, brown hair, green eyes, if not a bit shorter than usual.

"Nelson Slock." The next in line says, a lanky man with exaggerated features, and a huge, misshapen nose.

"Martial Hill!" The following man says, I short guy with black hair and what seems to be a perpetual look of depression on his face.

"Tyler Muhlenburg" The subsequent says, whose short cropped blond hair is whiter than most I've seen.

"Simon Rae." The next one says, his thin eyes facing forward in a lifeless stare. It kinda suits his black hair, radical and uncontrolled, not having been cut in a while.

"Morone Heim!" the final one says, a large, muscled man. I could almost imagine him as a Catachan. All in all it looks like a pretty average squad.

Nine men, plus me, to make ten. I look them over once more. The short cropped Baily, Latrine duty Sirus, the large, dark skinned Brownings, Mister average Uriel, the skinny Slock, depressed Hill, Blondie Muhlenburg (I need to start calling him Tyler, that last name is killer), the lifeless Rae, and Catachan Heim. Hopefully my nice little names will help me remember them. I can only assume I will be spending a very long time with most of them, then again, that is assuming I don't get fragged by some chaos bolter or sliced to bits by a hive tyrant. Right then.

I give them all a cold stare. They don't have a clue what is going on. I turn my back to them and dig in my pack. I can imagine the confused looks on their faces as they glance at one another, and I smirk at my own joke. "Brownings!" I bark, "Give me 20!" I say. He drops down and begins doing pushups. "Get up!" I snap just before I turn around, "I meant shots!" I say, a wide smile on my face, a bottle of amesec in each hand and a cigar hanging out of my mouth. His eyebrow rises for a moment in confusion. It's Rae who first gets the idea. I see him go from a look of horror and confusion, to meager understanding, to astounded disbelief, and then to unchecked excitement. He snatches one of the bottles out of my hand. "Ha ha!" he hoots, "Thanks Sarge!" The others seem to go through the same set of expressions as he scoots away over the one of the beds and busts open the bottle with a bottle opener he got from Emperor knows where. They suddenly get the idea and within minutes we are enjoying everything from beer to Lho sticks and from chocolate to cheese. I talk with my squad mates, learning various things. It's all in good fun; amesec tends to do that sort of thing. Apparently Uriel used to be involved in the mafia on his home world of Rothwana. The skinny guy, Slock, fought against hive fleet kraken. He saw his entire squad get ripped to pieces by a hive tyrant, proceeded to snatch up a heavy bolter, and took it down single-handedly. Gotta like a guy like that. The images keep him awake at night, prevent him from keeping down certain foods, just screwed him up. Brownings is the flamer, I found out. I can't figure out for a frag what's wrong with Hill, just so depressed looking, but somehow has a happiness about him. Simon is… a partier, to say the least. I'll bet he knows his s on the battlefield though. The rest are more like me. A few have been drafted, like Sirus, but others just joined of their own free will. Leonard and Morone joined up I think, but with this much alcohol, I can't remember for the life of me. Eventually we nod off, one by one, and drift to our cots for some sleep. Not to make assumptions, but it was probably Simon who fell asleep last. I'll ask tomorrow.

**-Graphic Content to Follow-**  
My dreams were so hectic, I don't think I actually rested at all. Most of everything was bleak. I could see members of my old squad, my platoon. Their faces were burned and charred, their bodies destroyed, any features that might have made them unique decimated beyond recall. I had visions of the carnage. I watched in horror as they all screamed in pain and burned, charred, and sizzled. I heard third degree burns didn't hurt. I want to tear my eyes away, wake up, stop these visions some how. And then comes a terrible realization; the flames, the explosions, the death. It's all coming from my own hands. I can hear now their pleas. They are begging me to stop. I revel at all of the death, the pain, the sweet killing. My head tells me to stop, but another part has taken over, and it drives me onward. I laugh as I walk through the planet, dealing death to all. Things begin to blur. Voices, voices in my head.

_Wake up_!...one voice screams… _Oh man_!...comes another… _You think he's had some sort of cardiac arrest_?...then another… _Medic! Emperor dammit, get a medic in here_!...comes the first voice. I awaken.

The entire squad is standing around me. I can see terror in their eyes. Even Simon seems to be distraught. They fall silent. I blink once, twice, three times.

"Thank the Emperor!" I hear and see Brownings shout. "Are you ok?" he asks.

"What the frag are you talking about?" I say, my voice hardly a whisper despite my efforts.

"Why, sir, I think you just had a heart attack!" Heim tells me as an officio medicae rushes into the room, resuscitrex in his hands. A few seconds later a fellow medic rushes in behind him.

"I'm fine…" I say, my voice coming back, "Just, it's ok, I'm fine." The medics look at one another suspiciously, and then one of them eyes me with a piercing look.

"May I ask it of you to come down to Medicae to see if you have anything… wrong?" he asks, his voice soft and comforting.

"sure… whatever. Squad, I want you suited up and sobered up by the time I get back!" I try to order as I stumble out of my cot. I'm trying to keep things cool, an image of security. But really?-I'm terrified.

I find myself in a medicae center. My escorts quickly left, telling others of my condition. I think I'm fine. Then again, I just had one of the weirdest dreams of my life. The thoughts of all that death spring to my mind and my heart skips a beat. What was that? Was it a bad dream? I'm not really sure. It's likely just my mind trying to sort out all the s that's happened to me since that faithful battle with the Tau. I have to think nothing of it. If I don't it will affect my performance, as a soldier, as a leader. A short doctor with deformed teeth and balding black hair walks in. He tells me to follow him through a series of halls, and past various rooms. I glance in at one. I notice a gruesome site; a man sits in a cot, life support systems beeping and chirping all around him. He has horrible burns all across his body. His face is so distorted I can't make out most of the features, and scars and contusions cover everything. I don't get a chance to read his name as I walk by. I'm in here with a case of nightmares while there are others who look like that. I feel suddenly out of place.

We come by a room with some complicated looking screens and controls, and some sharp implements I hope will not be used on me. He tells me to sit down, and asks me a few questions-concerning my health, recent events, and other doctorly things. I sit on that uncomfortable cot with the white paper over it that seems to crinkle to no end, and after various tests, (including heart rate, cat-scan, and urine sample to name a few) he tells me that the source of the attack was undeterminable, but was likely the result of the stress caused by the recent days.

Wow, what a big fraggin' help that guy was. But, you can't blame him too much, he's used to seeing combat related injury, not physiologically induced heart failure. He leaves the room, and shortly after I'm led out by a young girl in her late twenties. I'm still a bit shaken by that dream. I conveniently left that out of my little confession with the doctor. I've convinced myself that it was just my mind trying to fix itself, albeit in a fragged up way. That's what dreams are supposed to be, I hear; your mind sorting out your conscious and subconscious thoughts in your sleep. My escort lady leads me to the door of the Medicae, and I take my leave. I slink into my squad's bunk a few minutes later. They don't notice, they're all situated around a table, discussing in hushed tones. If Simon looks perplexed, then Hill looks fit to put his Lasgun in his mouth. My voice has completely returned now, and I venture a try at my command voice, as I so frequently refer to it in my head.

"SQUAD!" I boom, "I want you out on the drill grounds!"

We make our way through the halls to the parade ground. The rain patters even at this early hour. The clouds muffle the light, yet I can still see the worried faces of my men. Most of those on the grounds seem to have heard of me and their reactions range from silent chatter among one another to brief glances to turning away in fear and hiding with their friends. I lead my men to where I assume the drill Sergeant is, as many soldiers seem to be directing themselves away from his watchful eye. He barks and bellows and directs the men and women under his command on the grounds to do this and that, despite the constant rain. Hopefully the other planet won't be like this one… The other planet? I hadn't even thought about it yet. This was only a staging area before we embark to the war. I approach him and store my thoughts away as I begin to talk.

"Sir," I address the man, "What would you have my men and I doing?" I ask. He doesn't turn around, yet somehow he knows who I am.

"Sergeant Maverick," he says, his booming call toned down, "I'll take it easy on you today. But I expect you at full strength tomorrow."

"Hey… how did y-" he cuts me off.

"I want you guys on monitor duty, if you see anything "beardy", or "strange", then I want to hear about it. OK?" He inquires.

"Sir, yes Sir!" I respond, "May I ask where, or who, it is that we will be observing?" "You may." He states simply.

"Uh… ok… Where or who will be observing?" I say, slightly put off. "grid Three-zero-five, off to your right. You should enjoy the view, they're quite amazing to watch."

"Who, sir?" I ask.

"Well your going to find out, aren't you? Go on now, off to your duties. I'll be seeing you again soon enough." He says, and quickly diverts his attention to someone else, yelling and screaming at them that they're doing something wrong.

What does I'll be seeing you again soon mean? I dismiss the statement as a formality and move on to other things. I make my way to the area I was to be inhabiting, and I notice the slight change in domiciles from standard Imperial to more detailed Gothic. I think nothing of it until we begin to near our destination-section Three-zero-five. I see the first group of them and understand the Drill Sergeant from earlier. Their black power armor is flowing with robes and sashes, and I can tell some of them have intentionally dyed their hair white. Their heavy laden forms bear bolters cradled in their black gloved hand. I can see the "I" of the Inquisition detailed on most of their clothing, hanging on charms or as necklaces, and I straiten my posture as a chill goes up my spine. Despite their heavy outfit of war, their beautiful, I must admit. They are the Sisters of battle, the Adepta Sororitas.

We've been sitting here for about ten minutes in awe, and complete silence. Their slender forms are a sight for sore eyes, to say the least, and gorgeous to put it as it should be. They move so deftly and swiftly, the purpose in each step deliberate,

yet delicate. It's a see of swirling figures. I notice that there are no other Imperial Guard around, and It makes me feel sort of vulnerable. There aren't any men around except us. The Drill Sergeants have been replaced by Sister Superiors. I've been looking around for a while, yet I can't see any higher authority. I venture a sentence to my men.

"that's a sight, ain't it?" I ask. The first to come out of their metaphoric state is Slock.

"Indeed it is." He remarks.

"Hell, ya' think that they're going to be coming with us to Carcatha?" comes Brownings.

"I have no fraggin' clue, but I sure as hell wish they do." I reply.

"I think I'm going to try and get some of that." Simon says to the laughter that erupts shortly after.

"I heard they aren't aloud to." Says Hill, a surprising me with his breaking of silence.

"That's bull," comes the Catachan, Heim. I've got to ask him if he's got Catachan blood in 'em.

"I heard that they got… closed , if you know what I mean." Sirus Says awkwardly.

"That, Sirus, is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard." I remark, procuring a few chuckles from my squad mates.

It's then that I see them. In the swirling masses of Sororitas, there is a small group of women, five strong, that seem to have a superiority over all of the others. The one at the front, who's armor is adorned with so many bells and whistles that it makes me want to spew, goes over to all of the Sister Superiors, asks them a short series of questions, and then moves on. She has a staff of two others with Storm Bolters, a Mistress, and a Sister Superior. It was only the last of which I noticed. She was beautiful. Her white hair rode down in reckless beauty, its fraying at the end evidence of long months, even years, of battle. Her eyes are dark, laden with many sights no man, or women rather, should have to see. She bears the fleur de lis inking on her right cheek, a common sign of devotion. She has full lips, with a deep burgundy lipstick, deeper than the red of her outfit, which was only visible on the sleeves, and spotted with silver buttons along the outside. Her shoulder plates were printed with the Fleur de lis, on the right pad, and the "I" on the other. Her black armor, hinted with blue and purple, is detailed with gothic architecture, notably the skull on her right kneecap. Her shape is perfect, the curves of her waist that glide to her hips are disarming. It lights a deep feeling in me. Sensationally striking. Sinfully beautiful. The way she strides gracefully through the ranks, her hips swinging from side to side, playing tricks on my mind. I'm not sure if it hits me consciously or unconsciously at first, or even if I knew it right then. I'm in love.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Chapter 4  
A Brief Encounter**

She looks my way, just my fraggin' luck that just that moment I had happened to be staring at her. I am forced to tear my eyes away from her, and focus on my squad's chatter. I catch Brownings face, and I see a smile flicker on his lips, and then fade away.  
"You see them Sarge?" comes Tyler, or at least I assume it was him.  
"Indeed I do." I reply broadly, trying not to embarrass myself by speaking to the wrong person.  
"That's a Canoness!" Simon states.  
"How the frag do you know that?" comes Brownings.  
"I'm full of useless s like this. Just take my word for it, that ain't no Sister Superior. That's the real fraggin' deal!" Useless chatter. I dare a glance toward the newly arrived women and find that they have moved off beyond sight, their figures lost in the sea of black armor, silver and brass metal, and red robes.

We make our way over to the Sergeant but can't seem to find him. We didn't have anything to report anyway. Now that we are done, I start to see that the other squads are filing out, heading toward a large building. Chow hall. We trudge over and push our way through the never-ending ranks, but my mind is numb with emotion. After some hard shoving, and thanks to Simon's never ending resolve to push through the ranks, we find ourselves at the line, and I pleasure myself in taking all the food I want. The selection is, I must say, quite nice for the circumstances. There is some semi-stale bread - a step up from the rocks we are usually forced to consume - which compliments nicely with the chicken or beef-either still breathing or charred to a crisp, what fine choices. And to finish it all off is some brown stuff which I can't for emperors sake tell what it is. I poked at it a couple times and decided that my life was something I valued, and decided to stick with the meat and a piece mildewed bread. After I have loaded my plate with all manner of disgusting things, I find a table and situate myself in a seat. My squad files in around me and we begin to chatter about this and that, conversation ranging from mindless babble about past hook-ups to the presence of the Sisters and from the last cold someone had to the dieing carcass of the Emperor. It was the later topic that brought up my condition this morning, which had been kept at a silent stand-still until now. It was Hunter who brought it up first.  
"So… uh, sarge, what happened to you this morning?" he asks tentatively.  
"Yah, what was wrong with you?" Sirus chimes in. The squad stares at me questioningly. I chew my food leisurely and swallow even slower. I choose my words before speaking.  
"It wasn't much, really." I say. I know their smarter, but as long as it will keep them happy… "The doctor said that it was a minor symptom that if nothing else was singular and completely anomalous." I see their confused faces, and see Brownings shrug.  
"Well, as long as you don't drop dead in the middle of battle, I'm happy with that." He says. The squad collectively agrees and we continue are useless blabber.  
After Chow we head back to the bunker. There isn't much to do, or rather we've somehow weaved our way unknowingly out of work, so we laze about and relish our time off. I eventually get into a chess game with Simon, and surmise that he is not a tactical genius. After beating him several times in a row, I am distracted by other things and Bailey comes and plays Simon as well. I assume Simon lost again, but I can't bother to go and check. I have other things on my mind. The Sister of Battle. I remember her face even now, though the image already fades. The thought lingers that I may never see her again, yet I cannot seem to admit it to myself. I will see her again. I must. I am vaguely distracted by the blurred image of motion. I focus in and find Simon beating the ever loving s out of Bailey. I guess Bailey won.  
I rush in the middle after shoving past Brownings, who was standing and watching with the rest of the squad. I dive into the middle of their fight. I snatch up Simons hand as it flies through the air toward Leonard's jaw, and move my lower leg to intercept a kick toward the others abdomen. They seem puzzled for a quick second before struggling to assail each other once more. I figure Simon was the aggressor and let fly a single punch. Now, I never thought of myself as a particularly strong man, though I'm not scrawny either. But emperor damn must I have thrown a good punch.  
My fist collides with Simon's nose and sends him sprawling back. I take the advantage of Bailey's confusion and sweep my leg under him, toppling him to the floor. The cheers and hollers from my squad have vanished. Both of the men on the ground look amazed, and I stand there with my hands balled into tight fists, and i take heavy breaths. I half expected them to say I was breathing fire.  
"Now what in the Emperors name was that all about!" I bellow, and all of them visibly flinch. "What the frag do you think your doing!" I say, angry at their rashness, "What functional people brawl the men they work with, you fraggin' Savlars!" I scrutinize, and they stay silent.  
"uh… sir, it was just that uh…" Bailey tries to articulate. Simon swoops in to cover for him.  
"Sorry sir, I get a little-heated-sometimes." He says, smoothing out the situation. I stare at him with what I assume is a look to be reckoned with because he looks down at his chest.  
"Squad, I want you on the Parade grounds right now!" I bark, and they stand there dumbfounded.  
"But, wh-" Heim begins to say, but I cut him off.  
"I want you on the grounds right Emperor damn now!" I scream, my defining voice resounding through the room. They quickly form line and file out. I follow them and shut the door behind me. I have a plan.

Presently, we are out on the Grounds and my squad is standing in front of me. They hold at rigid attention, and I can almost smell their fear. They have no clue what they're in for. At least, what _one_ of them is in for.  
"Stay put." I command, "When I get back, if as much as a single one of you has moved a hair, you're going to be on latrine duty for the rest of your natural lives." I say with a bitter tone in my voice. I trudge out into the thick of men running around. I'm looking for one man. Our drill Sergeant from earlier.  
I weave in and out of formations and dodge the watchful eye of senior officers, yet he seems to have disappeared. I stand still for a moment and close my eyes. I can hear the men yelling, then their boots pounding, and the metallic clang of the sentinels. And then I hear him. Off to my left. I set off down the grounds. As I get further west I begin to notice the ornate domiciles once more, and find myself watching the Sisters from the ranks of guard. Occasionally I see one of my own running over and either be called back, or begin to talk to one of the sisters and then be shunned away. I notice one such man walking up to the ranks of Sororitas. I half expected him to be yelled at for breaking formation, but he gets to their ranks. I am distracted as a soldier bumps in to me.  
"hey, watch it man!" I yell at him and he trundles off. I look back to the man who braved the open ground to get to the Sororitas. I instantly recognize the figure of the woman he's talking too. It appears she's trying to send him away. My knees lock up for a second and my palms sweat just a little bit. I become aware of this and try to keep my head clear. Unconsciously, I begin to walk over. What am I doing? Surely I'll be spotted. No, I'm in a Sergeants livery; no one will call me back. The others probably think I'm going to deal with the guard for insubordination. Is that what I'm doing? I am approaching the pair rapidly. I try to slow my pace, but now it would be strange if I came back. What am I going to do? I'm a couple meters away now. I guess I'll find out.  
"Private!" I bellow, and both of them turn their heads my way. That was smart. "What in the name of the Emperor are you doing?" I scrutinize. He clams up, ruining any hope of fluidity that would be required to impress the ladies of the Imperium.  
"Well, sir, I was… uh… um…" he stammers, "I was talking to the… um…" He is horribly awkward, and I decide to save him from his bumbling self.  
"You, private, broke formation, disobeyed orders to march at sector four-five-seven, and are attempting to demoralize, delude, defile, deflower or otherwise seduce this Woman of the Emperor. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but did I _miss_ anything? Yes, I seem to recall you've got latrine cleaning you feculent excuse of a Guardsman!" I bellow, and he looks fit to piss himself. He quickly scurries off and I hear him angrily whining something about how none of the officers should've found out about his latrine duty to one of his squad mates, which he then precedes to batter on the head. I laugh at my random fortune. I turn my attention to the Lady.  
"I do beg your pardon for that inconvenience, and wish that you hadn't had to hear that. I'll make sure that he won't do anything of that sort for a long while." I say with a humble smile. I tip my cap courteously toward her and with a slight nod of my head begin to pull myself away. She calls out to me, and my heart skips a beat.  
"Sergeant; I ask of you your name, if you would give it." She asks. Her voice is beautiful, somewhere between a light Contralto and a deep Soprano. I fumble for a moment, choosing my words. I eventually speak. "Sergeant Steven Maverick of the Cadian 7th, ma'am. May I inquire yours?" I go out on a limb. She tilts her head quizzically and then answers, much to my relief. "Sister Superior Adelpha," She says flatly, "of the order of our Martyred Lady." The Sororitas says with an heir of pride.  
"Well then, Sister Adelpha, I shall cherish the moment that we met, and bid you a fond farewell." I tip my hat once more and tramp off back to the masses of Imperial Guard.  
After a few more minutes of hopeless searching, I hear once again his deep voice tearing though the air. I quicken my pace toward the sound. After my endless wading though the ranks, I am relieved to see his back once more. I stride up to him with devilish ideas formulating in my mind.  
"Sorry to bother you again, sir." I say flatly  
"Again?" he questions, "Sergeant Maverick, I assume." Damn. He can still tell who I am.  
"Are your fist fighting skills a little rusty?" I ask, keeping my motives hidden for the moment.  
"Is that a challenge, Sergeant?" he asks incredulously.  
"No, sir!" I respond. Should have worded my question better, I suppose.  
"In that case, Sergeant, I would tell you that I am in top shape and could easily take on whatever you could throw at me, anything human, at least." I smile.  
"Well then, Sergeant, I would ask you to follow m-" I am cut off.  
"Sergeant!?" he booms, and I am taken quite aback. "I am no petty Sergeant!" he turns and looks at me head on for the first time. He's a slightly aged man, with wrinkles creeping up on his pronounced face. He has a short beard, and medium length brown hair pulled back into a plait, both of which have hints of white in them. "My name is Major General Sigmund Alatar, and you shall refer to me so!" I would hate to be an ork right now, cause Emperor dammit that is one terrifying man.  
As I'm following him, back to the place where I had left my squad, I notice that this guy isn't just some jumped up Sergeant. When I had first seen him, I had noticed his red cloak, but had thought it was another item with which to intimidate so that he could induce horror within the hearts of the men on the parade ground. It is attached on his right shoulder by a brooch connected to a long, wide length of red velvet trimmed in gold that runs the length of his body, looping around somewhere behind his back. The attachment on the left is a little less extravagant, merely connected to some shoulder link represented by a nondescript gold pendent. This guy is the real deal. He has a heavy laden flak Jacket, which has so many embellishments on the Upper Segment that I think it wouldn't even help stop an attack. He has Awards ranging from the Medallion Crimson to the Macharian Cross stuck proudly to his right breast plate. The gold symbol emblazoned on his armor is a heavily overdone Imperial Eagle, surrounded by two rings of gold. By the looks of this guy, armor isn't necessary. He isn't the one being attacked 9 times out of 10; he's the one attacking. He has some sort of pistol I can't identify in a holster at his right, and fixed on his right hand a massive red Power fist, though I don't know why he would wear it in a Non-Combat Situation. He wears a long Tan jacket that goes to his ankles. His loose-fitting sleeves are of the same color, and are lined with silver studs. A wide Purity seal hangs next to a Medallion swinging softly from his waist at his left side. The Large burgundy glove on his left hand carries a Canteen, which he takes a swig of before stowing back on his belt, somewhere underneath the cloak. After a brief few minutes of walking, we eventually make it to my team, and they are standing at attention just the way I left them. Good.  
"PRIVATE SIMON RAE!" I bellow, and he whirls around to face me. "Sir yes Sir!" He responds strongly. I notice I caught the attention of some of the other men around too.  
"Major General, I would ask that you leave your Power Fist deactivated for the time being." I say calmly, with a slight nod. I see that Simon has his flak jacket on. Good. I stroll over casually toward the Colonel. I lean in and whisper to him. "You said you aren't too rusty at good ol' fashion fist to fist?" I inquire.  
"That is right; I did say that."  
I whisper to him again-"be on your guard." I turn to my squad.  
"MEN!" I growl at them, "turn and face the Major General!" They turn and salute the Senior Officer. "Simon, step forward." He complies and remains a foot away from the Major. "Simon. If you are so eager to get in a fight, then a fight is what you shall get." I nod toward the Senior Officer. A look of confusion passes over Simon's face. "Fight damn you!" I bellow and smash my fist into the back of his head. He immediately lunges toward the General.  
Simon throws a hasty punch, and Alatar dodges it deftly. He has his power fist hand resting calmly at the small of his back. He slaps Simon in the face with the back of his hand. Simon screams angrily and throws a kick, which is intercepted with a smooth grab, and The Imperial Private is flipped backwards in a graceful arc. He scrambles up and throws a punch-blocked without a second's thought-and then a round kick-averted with a quick parry-followed by a knife hand strike toward the throat, which was easily avoided by the seasoned veteran. Simon steps back for a brief moment, catching his breath. The Major General isn't even fazed.  
"My turn." He says, as calm as you like. The fighting commences once more, this time with Alatar on the offensive. A quick jab slides through the air and clashes with Simon's jaw, rocking him backward. A weak punch hardly worth dodging was sidestepped easily and Alatar's stiffened fingers dig into Simon's throat. He emits a quick cough before taking in a raspy breath. Simon recovers quickly, then lunges, but his blow is sidestepped gracefully even as a heavy knee lashes out and connects with his groin. He falls to the ground in a semi-fetal position. The Colonel takes a deep breath, and then glances my way. My eyebrows rise in amazement. He just kicked the s out of Simon. Simon! I'm sure my jaw has hit the floor, so I lift it back up almost subconsciously. I notice out of the corner of my eye the ring of soldiers, crewmembers, even sergeants watching with a deadening silence.  
"Sergeant, am I done here?" he asks nonchalantly, "I have things to tend to."  
"Sir, yes Sir!" I respond after a brief moment of dumbfounded silence, "You have my highest respects, sir." I say. He merely nods and then walks off, leaving us to watch as the crowd parts to let him and his billowing cape through. I turn my attention to my squad. I stare at them with a gaze that would stop a carnifex in its tracks.  
"Are you going to help you squad mate or are you just going to stand there dumbfounded you dogs!" I bellow. They feel my wrath and rush to Simon's side. I change my icy glare to Simon, who only briefly glances at me.  
"You… B-Bard…" he says between rasping breaths. I shake it off. I'd call me a bard too.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 5  
All personnel, Move Your Ass**

Simon passed out a moment later. He must've been hit really hard. I look at his motionless form, and then at my squad. They all stare at me with wide, black eyes. Hill wavers slightly, then looks down at Simon. The crowd around of people gazes at me in a mimicry of a beaten puppy's face. Scrawny Conscripts, rugged guardsmen, and even the stern Sergeants eye me with looks of scorn. My grim face stands chiseled in rock. A painful minute passes, and nothing moves or dares make a sound, save for a new rain that falls from bleak skies. I suppose I 'aught to say something. I take in a deep breath.  
I begin to speak, but my voice is suddenly drowned out by a wailing sound. The tell-tale call of the Emergency siren. Everybody is silent. They look at me with desperate eyes. They don't have a clue what to do. Heim kneels down, hefts the small Simon over his massive shoulder, and ventures a word:  
"Sir?"  
I pause for a moment.  
"All Personnel," I call out to the frightened soldiers, "Move your ass!" I below, and the sea of soldiers snaps into motion, "Move it, move it, move it! To the Emperor Damned launch stations you dogs!" Men run by me, some with faces of grim determination, others with looks of terror, and other still with excitement.  
I glance at my squad. "That applies to you too! Get you sorry asses moving!" They snap from their trance and we melt into the mass of bodies that parade toward the launch pad.

Presently, the situation doesn't look to good for us. From what I have pieced together from the cries of distress and horror, if you don't get off of the planet, you die. And, unfortunately, there are only enough emergency HEV (Human Entry Vehicles) for about Seventy-Five percent of the army stationed here. If Simon was awake and in working order, we might have been in a pod already, rocketing toward our destination. Unfortunately, we appear to be fragged. Hundreds of people have already been trampled. The Cacophonous roar of tens of thousands of terrified, screaming soldiers rings in my ears. The rain slams into everything incessantly.  
The entire squad is suited up - lasguns, flak armor, and all - and could go into combat at a moments notice. Though conditions in this oversized mosh, however, _were_ borderline battle field. Heim was at the front, having exhausted his burden of Simon to Muhlenberg and Hill, and had begun to literally throw any unfortunate guardsmen that got in his way. I glanced up onto the horizon and saw thousands of pods shoot up into the sky, like a meteor shower in reverse. Red and Orange streaks broke through the atmosphere and rocketed toward wherever it was these pods were planned to go. I had my squad in a rough arrowhead, with the unconscious Simon in the middle, and we wrestled our way through the mass of people. I heard people calling, sergeants bellowing orders, and the strangled scream of a trampled guardsman as he was lost under thousands of boots. I heard a sound that stuck out above the roaring. It stopped, and then I heard it again. Then I slowly began to hear the sound of a motor, similar to a humvee. I heard the call more clearly. It was someone shouting my name. It grew closer and closer, along with the sound of the vehicle. I stole a glance backwards – sure enough, storming through the crowd, was an Imperial LRV (Light Reconnaissance Vehicle). And aboard the Green monster, a tall man with an enormous red powerfist and a cape that billowed in the rain and wind.  
I see the Vehicle rip across the ground, as people either leap out of the way or try desperately to cling on.  
"Squad!" I scream, and I have to scream again before they all turn their heads, "Time to hitch a ride!"  
I plant my feet and brace against the force of the pounding waves of running soldiers. Men yell as they pound into us, trying desperately to run by us. The car gets closer and closer. The pounding of bodies gets harder and harder. One man decided that I will be to much of an obstacle to go around. I am looking at my rapidly approaching salvation, and the butt end of a lasgun swings up from the crowd and impacts on my nose. I lurch back, and try desperately to keep my balance. I get knocked back further. I get powered backward by the copious amounts of troops. Heavy boots trample me, and air is pounded out of my lungs as bones crack and my skin tears. I begin to bleed from the cuts in all over me. I reach up desperately and begin to scream in horror and desperation. I hear the Humvee that is now so close.  
Then, through my struggle, and the trampling bodies, a firm hand grasps mine. I feel the hand flex and I am pulled up enough to take in a breath, and evade the boots that pulverized my head. I look up through blistered eyes – right into the face of Simon Rae.

His black eyes are fixed on mine. His gaze cuts through my stare, and pierces right through my body. In that one glance, he passes more judgment of me than he had likely passed on anyone else before. He contemplates if he should let me live. He nods almost imperceptibly. His arm slackens. He's about to let me go.  
He pulls up suddenly and flings me up onto the back of the LRV, which instantly started to move again. I take in a few gasping breaths. I stare into the rain, and then lift my head painfully. I pull my upper body up, and reach out my hand. He eyes me suspiciously, and then takes my hand and shakes it firmly.  
"Thanks." Is all I can muster.  
"No problem."

The humvee barreled through the crowd, toward the origin of the upward falling meteors. The car eventually makes it onto the colossal launching zone. The chain link fence with the barbed wire on the top has long since been knocked down. The tires roll over it, and a the sound of popping tires and released air goes unheard over the din. We make it roughly a hundred meters from the last of the HEV's when our car gets so slow that we collectively decide to ditch it and cover the rest of the ground on foot. Alatar keys a control on the panel on his arm, and his red power fist bursts into life. Spheres of energy writhe above his knuckles.  
"C'mon boys! Lets take a walk!" He roars as he leaps off of the vehicle. My squad, plus a nameless Guardsman, follow suit. We dive from our makeshift transport and draw our weapons. It's do or die. Kill or end up dead. I have the strange feeling that things are about to get very, very, bloody.  
We charge forward in another rough wedge, this time with Alatar in the lead, with myself and Heim to his left and right. He swings his massive, roiling arm and flashes of concentrated energy explode on the weakly armored men in front of him. I snatch the chainsword of an less fortunate dead Sergeant, and Heim merely draws his knife – which is, admittedly, the size of a short sword. I pull a rotary cord and the device in my hand roars into life. The others behind me fix the bayonets on their lasguns and prepare to unleash their hale of lasbolts.  
I carve desperately through the crowds – an act that would usually get me tried and killed as a heretic. However, with a Major General sending hapless Guardsmen flying through the air with broken bodies, and a Catachan sized man carving through more still with a bloodied knife, I think the general consensus is out; you can try to get off and play fair, or you can try to get off and do anything you can to ensure your success. Soldiers fire blindly into the crowd, and the two men to my right brutally slay the fleeing men that dare stand to impede our path to a safe leave.

The redemption of the last remaining pods grows ever closer. We find a lull in the masses of runners and take this advantage to our fullest. we thrust our weapons in the air, began a full sprint, and shout as loudly and as terrifyingly as we can. People get out of the way as our band of psychos thunders full tilt toward the pods. I begin to hear screams. At first I think they are just others using our idea, but realize the sound is from far away. It grows, and I realize that the screaming is really cries of agony. I glance back only slightly, and catch a horrific site out of my peripheral vision: A massive pale green cloud towers a half a mile high from the ground. I can't see what is happening exactly to the men who get under the wrath of the apparently deadly gas, but if the wails of agony and the gurgled death cries tell me anything, it is that I certainly do not want to stick around to find out just what this green cloud is. We close on one of the pods, and Alatar slams his ungauntleted hand onto the 'open' key on the display pad, and we storm into the roughly double chimera sized cocoon known as a 'HellCrate'. I note that the man who was aboard our car earlier is gone – presumably dead. The Green cloud grows closer. We wait, and urge people to come in and occupy the few empty seats we have left. The billowing behemoth is only seconds away.  
I turn to Alatar "Their dead."  
He looks at me, nods, and replies, "It is so. Emperor forgive me." He gives a half-salute to the screaming men outside, and keys the seal.

Some of the thousands of remaining Guardsmen slam into the Opti-Glass window on the air-tight door, begging and screaming to 'open the door!', and 'Emperors light, let us in!'. The green cloud passes over the HEV. None of the gas can get into the sealed vehicle, but the squad and Alatar and the others inside watch in horror as the green vapor works its evil magic on the men outside.  
**-Graphic Content to Follow-**  
Their pleading screams turn to cries of pain and agony. The skin on their body begins to stretch into gapping holes, and disintegrate. Their faces seem to 'melt away'. Their cries of pain turn to bawling, gurgling, screeches of curses and prayers for the Emperor to save them as their muscle peels away, and hangs off of their mangled body in huge slabs. Their bodies bubble and ooze, and the men that had been just a moment ago were reduced to steaming, screaming, gooey carcasses as the last remnants of life passed through their body in a few agonizingly painful seconds. The green countdown numbers in the pod turn to orange, and then to red, and the hugely powerful rockets ignited, and our earth-to-space transport was sent thundering into the sky, and beyond.

We sit in the cockpit, and listen to the Dull din and hum of the engine. But nobody is really listening to the engine. We can all still hear the cries of pain, the screeching pleads, and the gurgling last words.

I raise my head, and clear my throat. All of the people in the pod, 20 odd in all, look up at me.

"We did what we had to do. They died so that we could live. We will all serve the Emperor for them, and they will serve through us." I pause, and they silently contemplate this statement. "I'm sure that many of the men you knew died out there. I'm sorry to tell you that the pain of a loss on that scale will never go away. You must go on every day knowing that you lived, while they died. But let them be your will to live. Let them be your motivation to be brave, to fight on, and to accomplish great things. If you can take something from this, it is that because of their death, it is now your burden to carry on the honor of their lives. It is your burden to be sure that the acts of those brave soldiers will not die with you. It is your burden to continue the legacy of your officers, your fellow soldiers… your friends. If you are to walk away with something from this, let it be that you are now and shall forever be the living embodiment of them, and the courage that they had, with their strengths, and with their weakness, you will fight on." Hill swallowed heavily, and I watched as the men, beaten and weak, cut and sore, utterly broken, struggled to hide emotion. "You will have to protect their honor with your actions. And this will make you bold. This will make you strong. This will make you great, and worthy in the eyes of all."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Chapter 6  
Inquisitor**  
Inquisitor Nicolai Emyrich of the Ordo Hereticus slid across the polished fake marble flooring of the Leviathan-class destroyer Ascendant Justice. His pace was even, quiet, purposeful. The smooth gate of the man made close to no sound save for a soft pat of booted feet and the nearly inaudible clink of the canticles on his body as he traversed one of the many winding halls of the destroyer, on his way to the bridge. The silent, ominous form of the dark man stroke down the hall, shrouded in a vast layering of robes, sewn meticulously by some unknown artisan with a thousand prayers and hymns of the Emperor, and lined with large letters a motto of the Ordo Hereticus, largely stylized in High Gothic, Suffer Not the Witch to Live. The only skin visible was his face, and even this was shadowed and hardly recognizable under the heavy, shadowy hood.

He neared a heavy blast door, guarded by an Imperial Soldier of the same build. The Inquisitor had no permission to be on the bridge of the ship, considering the ship-wide alert of a rogue psyker aboard. Emyrich knew the alarm to be fake. He knew that the blunt Captain of Ascendant Justice disliked the gifted few of the Imperium, and had put the ship on lock-down in order to keep the Inquisitor from his sight. Of course, the ship was clear. Emyrich had scanned the ship with a single great wave of psychic energy. The psychic-sonar had not rebounded off of the psychic aura of a rouge being, meaning one of two things: there was no such psyker aboard; or the psyker was skilled enough to evade the searching wave of power, or had a psyblock attached. Emyrich was confident it was the former.

As he approached the bulky man at the exterior of the bridge, the Inquisitor limbered his dormant mind by scanning the blunt (in this circumstance very blunt) thoughts of the soldier. It appeared this particular servant had heard rumors of Ordo Hereticus activity aboard the ship. Rumors spread fast it appears, thought the Inquisitor. This man was intimidated by the figure approaching. He was nervous, his heart started to pump faster, the man began to grow hot. His brain unconsciously started to send electrical signals to activate his sweat glands. The Inquisitor tapped into the unguarded mind of the individual, halted the firing of neutrons that enabled this action, and the man grew even more uncomfortable. His skin slowly, very softly began to turn red, his neck, back, and armpits dry and hot.

The Inquisitor drifted to other parts of his mind. He found the guardsmen to be frightened of Psykers. They apparently terrified the stout soldier. Such an opening was impossible to resist.

Emyrich tilted his head upwards. A pale, angular, yet somehow impossibly perfectly proportioned, harsh face stared directly at the guard. His eyes were visible for one brief, terrifying moment. The glowing white embers of psychic energy that burned in Emyrich's eyes seemed to bore into the man. The room's temperature dropped suddenly. The man's red skin tone vanished very quickly – color, in fact, seemed to drain completely from his face. His eyes grew wide with fear, his posture grew tight. He had an uncontrollable desire to shy away in a small corner, away from the powerful and terrible figure that approached.

Emyrich lowered his head once more, and the searing white eyes vanished from view.

'I wish to speak with the Captain.'

The man stood silent and unmoving. His eyes wide with fear, his mouth incapable of words.

'Would you deny me access to the bridge, soldier?' the Inquisitor said evenly, without doubt, assuming complete authority where, the Inquisitor's rank and title not being known to any but the Captain, there would be no such thing.

The man shook his head no – he had no problem letting the dark figure into the room. Anything to get the terrifying being away from himself. The guard tapped a few keys, looked up at the great doors as they slid open. The robed figure vanished into the humming bridge. The doors hissed closed without reverence.

A relieved guard stood back at attention, weakened and shaky. He hoped very much never to have to do that again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey! Whats up? Its been a while. I hope you're not so pissed at me that you won't read any more... whimpers. Either way, you'll be seeing that I'm taking this story in a slightly different direction. The realism, both in the general behavior of the soldiers, the descriptions of battle, and the feasibility of certain situations will now be much more evident. Either way, look for such changes from Chapter 8 and onwards. For now, Enjoy!**

**-S.B.**

* * *

**Chapter 7  
Unplanned Arrival**

The HEV lurched suddenly as the drop-ship broke the planet's atmosphere, rather unexpectedly. A siren wailed inside of the floating mass, awoken from its peaceful slumber as it glided through space. Its lights flashed on, its sirens screamed shrilly, and its massive thrusters belched flames as the hulking mass rocketed through half-space.

'Listen up you good-for-nothin' mamma's boys!" Alatar bellowed, his mouth seeming fit to be an amplifier, 'We will be entering a hot combat zone upon arrival of the surface of the Planet Carcatha. The enemy will be in full scale assault, our allies weakly dug in. No kind of combat you have ever fought will be like the combat you are about to engage in. Not only will you be under enemy fire, you will have to deal with advancing up uneven, muddy terrain, past mine traps, through occupied trenches, and emplacements. You will also have to avoid the falling pods of your allies to avoid instantaneous death by sheer blunt weight vaporization. Questions?' The pod remained silent for a moment.

'Who will we be fighting?' I ventured across the pod at Alatar.

His face was cold, unemotional, yet somehow completely reassuring and sympathetic. There was a moment of absolute calm. The lights went off. The sirens quieted. The engines ceased. I could sense his eyes upon me in the immaculate dark. His voice was a dark rumble, terrifying and deep.

His answer came in one word, before the storm hit – 'Chaos.'

The word had a fraction of a second to set in, stinging like a wound, making my heart pound, and my head throb. We, for that half-second, floated in the quasi-atmosphere of the planet, effortless and completely troubles – a brief moment of calm. Then, all hell broke loose.

The reverse thrusters roared into life, the dim red glow-globe lights fizzled on, the sirens blared on once more. The whole thing exploded into motion, the pod plummeted violently through cold upper air of Carcatha like a great, flaming asteroid. The forces tugged at my seat-straps.

Then the AA fire started. 'INCOMING!' yelled one of the men near the small, Plexiglas window. A huge, fiery ball roared past our pod. I had a moment when I realized just how fragile our pod was. I imagined how beautiful and calm it would be to witness this event from afar. Countless tens, even hundreds of thousands of dots, raining down upon the upward falling fiery rain, a glorious and terrifying spectacle back dropped by a fiery orange morning sky. Two monumentally spectacular storms, colliding to create massive, dazzling explosions of light and sound. I recalled a battlefield anomaly, where people in a certain area could not hear the sounds of artillery near by, but could see the flash, where as people farther away could hear the sound clearly. The silent mural of our descent played in my head. I was busy idly reminiscing on how the spectacle would appear from a distance when I snapped back into reality – I wasn't watching – I was chin fraggin' deep in what I was convinced was the most miserable experience of my life.  
Then came along the titanic impact of three tons of HEV, man, and supplies upon hard, solid ground. The force was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. The extreme impact shook the entire pod, sending up a massive plume of mud and debris skyward with a fantastic loud thump. My entire body shook down to my core, awakening tremendous pain, and whiplash seemed to spread from my head to my feet. I looked up and around the pod after the incredible pain in my head cleared enough for me to gain my senses. Men and bodies hung limply from tight yellow seat-straps. Alatar was already up and had his wits about him enough to be rallying the men in the pod. He tugged a few of the men around him to check for signs of life, and yelled something that was lost in my ringing ears about getting up off our lazy asses.

He shook his head disappointedly and turned to the door lock as I un-strapped myself from my seat and fell a few short feet onto the floor. That was what I was convinced was the most miserable experience of my life. I stumbled slightly as I hit the ground – the floor was at an angle. I stumbled about enough to find a Lasgun in the basket below a limply hanging soldier. I grabbed the thing, a few ammo cells, and a knife. I pulled the helmet out of the basket. White lettering caught my eye. I looked at the back of helmet and was taken aback as I looked up at the limp body hanging before me. Muhlenburg's vacant face stared limply, lifelessly forward. I put the helmet back underneath the seat, and turned away from him. I staggered over to Alatar and saluted dully.

'Lets go!' he yelled at the straggled survivors and turned to face the door, hissing as it depressurized. We charged into the blinding white light of the morning as it flooded into the HEV.

The cold, bright sky had faded from the beautiful morning's fiery display to a brutal hot dawn. I extremely doubted that the sun alone led to the impossible heat of the battlefield. Artillery and down jets, collisions, explosions, and all manner of all other fiery events had physically heated the environment. Lasfire cracked and sizzled, thousands of tracers speeding through the air as the collective whine of lasguns back dropped the louder, more pronounced sounds of bolters, Lascannons, autocannons. The hair was hot, and smelled of sulfur from the Las cell discharge. The sky seemed impossibly white, the ground a charred black, and plumes of fire, mud from landing transports, and red splashes of organic human matter flung their essence skyward to land upon unwary soldiers.

Damn it all, this is the most miserable experience of my life. I loaded a fresh clip into the Lasgun I had grabbed from the small HEV arming cache, through my balled fist into the air with a scream, and charged forward, chasing the red-orange tracers, toward the stinging, un-merciless bolts of chaos, and their even more un-merciless masters.

I ran forward with uncanny fury. I'm not sure at what I was angry at, now that I reflect. The foulness of the sneak attack? Maybe. The death of a member of my squad? Perhaps. The intense pain of the last few minutes? Likely. I honestly didn't know just then. The fury was all consuming. It soaked the very fiber of my being, clutched a hold of my innards with lurching fire, and gave me limitless, impossible energy.

We advanced into the enemy lines with a charge. At first we, and by we I mean the men of my pod, where in fact all of the Imperial Guard Forces ran forward, our dedication held watch by Sigmund Alatar, damn Sigmund Alatar, advanced through the Hellish rain of near battle. We shot forward occasionally. Not enough to hit anything, but enough to add to the continuous hum of Lasfire that rung in the hot air. The experience was exactly what Alatar had said it was – it was like no battlefield I had ever been on.

The hundreds of thousands of Drop Pods made tremendous, concussive landings that shook us to the very center of our spines, and sent huge plumes of mud and debris in every direction. Countless artillery shells from warped and twisted Chaos gun emplacements rained down at a ten to one ratio to the HEVs, and also sent up plumes of dirt and mud. But it sent something else up. Something that the pods only sent up occasionally, these had flying in all directions at every earth shaking impact. Blood. Human blood. I would like to think it was blood anyway. The thought that people had been vaporized and sent upwards by the impact alone chills me to this day.

And so we ran forward, screaming, firing, sprinting, onward through the blood and mud and dirt that poured down upon us every step of the way. It was, what some might consider, a traumatizing event. Many men came from that battle severely screwed up. I witnessed the affects first hand, later on.

But soon, Alatar started to chant. He started to sing the Emperors hymnals, to bellow litanies of fury and salvation, and yelp encouraging strings of fiery indulgence of his want to kill the damnation of Chaos. By the time we reached the Enemy's lines, soaked in Mud and Blood, we had a veritable host, certainly a number of Regiment's worth or more, charging forward with us. The taint of chaos made us lurch and vomit as we ran, but we did not stop. As we neared, the foul rounds of Heavy weapons, then the long rangers, then the Infantry Basic Weapons tore into us. We died in the thousands as we charged.

If one was to look at a map, or an overhead pict video capture, or to have had a first hand view of the battle field, he would see what I am describing. Not the details. He would not see the plumes of gore and dirt, he wouldn't see the vomiting, he would not see the explosive bolter shells that tore men limb from limb, or the tainted laser shots from the cultists that jabbed into us, threatening our lives every step of the way. They would see a tide. If they were tentative enough, or knew where to look, they would see it start from one pod. They would see it grow in size as they charged forward. Then they would see how the entire Charge of the Cadian 7th, as it was later known, had played out. Every single soldier within a mile of us formed one huge, impossible wedge, at the point of which were the occupants of the original pod, which cut into the heart of Chaos emplacements in the area. It did not stop, the sprinting of thousands of men, advancing to death, glory, salvation, revenge – whatever the men thought they could take from the damned in the hot morning battle field entrenchments. All we knew was that we could keep charging. Keep charging through the muck and the death. We could not be stopped. We were the numberless masses of the Imperial Guard, and we would sacrifice every damned soldier we had to win. And then we were at the heart of them. It was then, and only then, that our momentum stopped.

It was then and there where we engaged in the most brutal warfare of our lives – of our lives thus far, anyway.

* * *

**Well, there you are! Hope you enjoyed it! A few tiny chapters, I know. Look for some crazy action comin' up though. **

**-S.B.**


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